


sad, funny, dumb, and brave like that

by detectivemills



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fingering, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivemills/pseuds/detectivemills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>During their next interview, Liam slings an arm around Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn can’t help but turn his head away, can't help but let his eyes slide down to Liam’s fingers hanging against his chest. Liam leans into him a bit, a warm weight pressing into Zayn's side, and his fingers hang even lower. He images the thickness of Liam’s knuckles pressing into him… and then imagines the thickness of Liam’s, uh, something else.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	sad, funny, dumb, and brave like that

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn gets fingered by a girl he hooks up with on tour and really, really likes it. Madness (inside his head, at least) ensues.
> 
> Title from 8in8's [Twelve Line Song](http://music.amandapalmer.net/track/twelve-line-song), which is all kinds of awesome, so.

Zayn likes a lot of things about Raina: her name, which is unique and a bit silly, he thinks; her long, lithe legs; and her shiny black hair, softly twisting around his fingers. Maybe those aren’t necessarily the most important things to like about someone, but Zayn thinks it’ll be enough for tonight.

She knows who he is but isn’t obnoxious about it, and when they get back to his hotel room – he’s got the single on this leg of the tour, which is always nice – she toes off her surprisingly sensible shoes and asks Zayn if he wouldn’t mind leaving the light on while they were together.

“I’m a little bit afraid of the dark,” she admits, lifting her shirt over her head.

He smiles. Yeah, he does like this girl.

She ends up between his legs on the bed, arms wrapped under his thighs, the smooth swell of her arse pushed up in the air. He levels up on his elbows to watch her: mouth slick, lips tight, hand working at the base of his cock before she lets him into her throat with a muffled gag.

He reaches down to slide a hand into her hair. When he feels a fingernail scratch behind his balls he shivers, but it’s nothing compared to the searing feeling of two of her fingers sliding against his hole.

She takes his groan as assent – thank god she’s so perceptive, he couldn’t speak even if he tried – and presses a bit, only with spit to guide her. Zayn’s eyes snap shut, white bursting behind his eyelids. He tries to keep his hips from bucking up into her mouth, the slow slide of her fingers fiery hot.

Once she’s all the way in, she moves her fingers in time with her mouth and Zayn can’t keep himself from shouting. He hopes none of the boys are anywhere near or in the hall because they’ll have heard, oh god, and he’ll never hear the end of it: _she suck your brain out through your dick, Zayn? Yeah?_ But no, it’s better than that, her fingers stretching him gently and pulsing against spots that make his muscles melt.

“Yeah,” he hisses, trying to be quieter. “Yeah, please.”

She presses deeper and his hips shoot up but she takes it like a champ, sucking him harder and just as he’s marveling at the intimacy of having someone so deep inside him, she pushes against a spot that makes Zayn catch fire and he comes harder than he’s ever come before.

He’s so wrung out that he barely remembers to slip his hand between her thighs and get her off, too. She’s wet and willing to grind down onto his fingers, though, and it’s easy enough for Zayn to wrap his arms around her and pull the blankets over their heads when they’ve finished. And like that, it’s easy enough to fall asleep with the lights on.

//

The next morning, Zayn almost wishes he was awake enough to initiate one last go, but instead he drags a pair of sweatpants off the floor of the bathroom and walks Raina down to the hotel lobby. They take the stairs because it’s “safer,” says Paul, and before she leaves, Raina kisses him on the corner of the mouth.

“I’ll follow you on Twitter,” he says, because goodbyes are weird. She smiles.

He finds Liam in his room when he gets back, kicking things into a pile next to Zayn’s suitcase.

“Hey, bugger off,” Zayn tells him. “You’re making it worse.”

“Good morning to you too,” Liam responds, but it’s without malice. Zayn softens; Liam is, as always, only being his temperate early-morning self. Zayn has spent a lot of time willing himself to get used to it.  
  
“We’re leaving in an hour, you know.”

Zayn runs his hands through his hair, pushing it to an acceptable height. “I _do_ know, Liam.”

“This is me helping you pack.” Liam lifts the mass of clothes and shoes and magazines and electronics into the empty suitcase. After surveying his handiwork, he reaches down and snags something black and silky from the pile. “Although I don’t think you’ll be needing these…”

Zayn wants to say something quick and witty to deflect attention from the blush seeping across his face and neck, but all he can do is stare at Liam’s fingers pressed into the nylons. He's feeling a new heat pooling in his stomach, something hotter than the spark he feels when Liam coils his arms around his neck or playfully slaps him on the bum. Something having to do with the clench of Liam's knuckles against the sheer black of the tights the girl he fucked last night left behind. He bites his lip and turns to grab his shirt from the bed, pulling it over his head to hide his face before Liam can see how red he is.

“Those can go,” he says.

Liam laughs lightly, eyes all stupidly bright. “Don’t be like that. Loads more embarrassing things have happened to us.” He thinks for a second as a grin spreads across his face. “Mostly to Harry, really.”

When Zayn turns his eyes alight on Liam’s hand again, the tights balled up in his fist. He thinks of Raina’s fingers last night, and how it felt like she dragged the life out of him.

Liam’s still smiling. _If only you knew_ , Zayn thinks.

//

A few times, he tries to do it himself. Recreate the feeling. Replicate the moment. Whatever. It’s much harder than it looks, physically and mentally.

The _rhythm_ is what kills him. He can’t get the rhythm right. No matter how many fingers he crooks or products he uses, it just doesn’t feel the same. He'll need someone else, and he can't stop thinking about it.

God, what he wouldn’t do for someone else’s fingers roaming inside him. He can’t stop thinking about it like that, euphemisms and metaphors keeping him from envisioning anyone and everyone with their fingers in his arse.

He watches Louis's hand sit heavily on Harry’s knee, fingers scratching little paths into the dark denim. He watches Niall flick a straw around a cup of _something_ – “Is that -- is that straight whiskey?” Liam asks, but Niall doesn’t bother to answer him – only stopping to rub it between his thumb and forefinger.

It always comes back to Liam, though. It always has.

Liam, with his willingness to clean up after others and his steadfast adherence to the weekly Skype dates he schedules with his mother. Liam, with his honest eyes and perfect hair. Liam, with the six-pack that Zayn can't help but slant glances at when they're hustling through costume changes.  
  
During their next interview, Liam slings an arm around Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn can’t help but turn his head away, can't help but let his eyes slide down to Liam’s fingers hanging against his chest. Liam leans into him a bit, a warm weight pressing into Zayn's side, and his fingers hang even lower. He images the thickness of Liam’s knuckles pressing into him… and then imagines the thickness of Liam’s, uh, something else.

And then Liam’s thumb runs against the collar of Zayn’s shirt and Zayn has to shift so Liam’s arm falls from around his neck to the top of the couch. He repositions himself so his crotch is hidden from the camera’s view; the last thing he needs are pictures of this moment flooding the internet, a big red MS Paint circle around his hard-on.

They’re back to sharing a room, he and Liam, and Zayn ends up with a litany of inane images of Liam to wank to – his fingers against the slick silver of his belt buckle; curved tightly around the handle of his toothbrush; running through his hair. Tangled in those fucking nylons.

It’s worse when he’s drunk, watching Harry’s fingers slide through the beads of water that hang from his glass. He eyes a few girls too, but when they try to pull him onto the dance floor, their hands feel cold and clammy. It just isn't right. One of them finds Niall and Zayn sees her pointer hook into one of his belt loops, pull his hips against hers.  
  
 _Wanker_ , Zayn thinks unnecessarily. _Making it look easy to ignore something like that_. Here he is, gracelessly pissed and thinking about the way Liam licked a dab of peanut butter off his thumb this morning at breakfast. Zayn wonders if there's a way he can turn his brain off, because at this point that would be totally preferable to the agony he's causing himself. He imagines Liam tucked into bed back in their hotel room, happily sleep-warm.

He ends up slumped over a table in the corner of the pub, a napkin stuck to his sweaty forehead. When he feels someone slide in next to him, he knows it's Louis.

"What're you so down about, mate?"  
  
Zayn doesn't lift his head, but answers anyway. "How'd you know I'm down?"  
  
"You're keeled over before midnight, you've gotta be down. You could be out there, pulling any girl you wanted." Louis lifts a hand to his neck and Zayn can feel the heat of each one of his fingers pressing against the soft skin behind his ear.  
  
Four drinks past discretion, Zayn asks, "'ave you ever wanted to fuck your best mate?"  
  
"Have you met Harry Styles?" Louis deadpans, and Zayn has to lift his head to laugh at that.  
  
"But have you ever had to actively hide your desire to fuck you best mate?"  
  
"Ah, you've got me there." Louis is surprisingly graceful in his admission of defeat. "Maybe it's time you go home and talk to this best friend. Had enough pining from you, Malik."  
  
Zayn lets his head fall back onto the table. "Stuff like that, it never -- never works. Just in movies."  
  
"Dunno. Might be worth a try." He feels rather than sees Louis stand up. "Let's go see."

After a bus ride full of soberingly melancholic thoughts – "It looks like there's a montage set to _The Scientist_ playing in your head right now, am I right? Yeah?" Louis quips, and Zayn pushes him off his seat – Louis deposits Zayn in their room, flipping on the light even though Liam must’ve turned it off hours ago. Liam never minds being woken up, but in case anyone thought things were going to go smoothly, Louis shouts, “Liam! Zayn needs you. Get up, hope you’re wearing pants!” Liam tries to pull the sheet up over his head – his fingers look red and sleep-warm, yanking hard against the white – but Lou wins, and after a second Liam sits up.

“Alright, hi,” Zayn manages. 

Lou doesn’t even hesitate. “See you in the morning. Hopefully."

Liam scrubs a hand over his face, but doesn't look upset. "How was your night?"  
  
"Could've been better." Here it comes; Zayn can feel it, a steadily building pressure, which means he’s either going to throw up or do something unequivocally stupid.   
  
"Yeah?" Liam yawns silently. "How?"  
  
Before his brain can stop him Zayn drops himself onto Liam's bed, shuffling over Liam's slackened body and bracing his knees around his thighs. There's a moment of stillness when Liam's wide eyes freeze him, but he's come this far. He leans in slowly, and just as his lips come to brush Liam's – before he's even properly kissed him for the first, a newly perfect moment that will always be locked away in the _firsts_ section of Zayn's brain – he asks, "Yeah?" Just to make sure Liam knows what he's about to do. Just so he knows it isn't going to come crashing down. The tremble in his voice fills the slim space left between their bodies.  
  
But it's just the surprise, because Liam breathes out a shaky, " _Yeah_ ," and it's a first kiss alright, but it's a first kiss that Zayn's been waiting for for what feels like his entire life. Liam tilts his head a little and Zayn can't believe it, feels Liam's hands alight on his hips and he grabs his chin, forces Liam's mouth open to kiss him harder. Liam sucks air in through his nose and pulls Zayn flush against him, chest to chest, and his palms are searing into Zayn's ribs, fingers playing up under his shirt.  
  
"Been wanting this for so long," Zayn slurs, and Liam laughs. "Jesus," he says quietly, and Zayn rolls his hips a bit as he grits out, "Sorry, sorry, but -- ah -- " because he can _tell_ Liam's overwhelmed, blushing nervously, but he has to keep going. He couldn't stop if he tried.  
  
And then Liam flips them over, clumsily kicking the sheet out from between their bodies, and Zayn's stomach bottoms out like he's on a rollercoaster.  
  
Liam reaches toward the button at Zayn's waist and starts to slide himself down –  _Liam is prepared to suck my dick_ , Zayn thinks stupidly – but Zayn stops him. "Could you maybe just -- we don't need to have sex yet, but -- " and he slips two of Liam's fingers into his mouth. He's pretty sure he doesn't have to finish the sentence.  
  
"Jesus," Liam says again. Zayn scrapes his teeth against Liam's fingers for a minute; then he guides Liam's hand down between his legs. Liam pulls him in tight, an arm around his shoulders like an anchor. Zayn holds his breath as Liam's fingers run over his hole, hot and soft and _ready_. He gasps as Liam pushes in, slow and soft, feeling the shake of Liam's chest against his as Liam breathes with him, for him.  
  
Liam moves his fingers delicately but curves them just right and Zayn tries his hardest to keep from pushing Liam away with the buck of his hips. He steadies his gaze and looks up to find Liam is staring at him with smoking eyes, slack-jawed lust and determination that would scare Zayn under different circumstances.  
  
"Are you gonna come for me?" Liam asks. Zayn can't think of any phrase he thought was less likely to tumble out of Liam's mouth, but he doesn't complain; instead he whines into the crook of Liam's neck, lets Liam fill him all the way up.  
  
"Zayn, c'mon. _Zayn_ ," and Zayn comes as his name slips off Liam's tongue.  
  
Zayn settles and breathes through his mouth, tasting the sweat on Liam's collarbone. His fingers are still moving slowly and Zayn's muscles flex and grab, wanting more. When Liam's hand slips away, the emptiness stings.  
  
"Yet," Liam says suddenly. "You said 'yet.'"  
  
"Uh." Zayn makes an effort to complete his thought, tucked against Liam's side. "I did, yeah."  
  
"We don't need to have sex _yet_."  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
He feels Liam's hand on his thigh, fingers tacky with everything they've shared. "Does now qualify as 'yet'?"  
  
"I'd think so, yeah," Zayn tells him, because now is not the time for wordplay, and Liam's fingers slide a bit higher.


End file.
